Fireplace
by Connie Welsh
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and the boys are spending it with Bobby. When Dean awakes to find his brother out of bed and staring at the fireplace, waiting for Santa, he can't help but be sucked into it too. Day 16 of the 25 Days of Fic Tumblr Challenge.


**A/N:** Oh gosh, I really like writing Weechester fics. I think I'm a bit addicted.

"Sammy? Sammy!" Dean hissed, stepping softly down the staircase, carefully avoiding the creaky step and staring intently into Uncle Bobby's dark study.

"Dean?" Sam whispered from somewhere in the room, and Dean stepped off the last stair, trying to pinpoint where his brother's small voice had come from.

"Where are you?!" Dean demanded in a hushed whisper, and suddenly the flicker of a flashlight switching on from under Bobby's desk illuminated the fireplace, and Sam peeked his head out from under it.

"What are you _doing_?" Dean huffed, making his way carefully around the stacks of books on the floor to the desk, "Do you know how freaked I was when I woke up and you weren't in bed?"

"I'm waiting for Santa Claus!" Sam informed him, hunkering down under the desk again, facing the fireplace with his flashlight and a blanket in his lap. Dean knelt down beside the desk, watching his five year old brother stare intently at the fireplace with the barely suppressed excitement of a caffeinated puppy.

"Sam, no, you can't stay down here all night," Dean sighed, reaching his hand under the desk, waiting for Sam to take it so they could go back to bed, "Santa won't come unless you're sleeping."

"That's why I have my blanket," Sam told him, "So when I hear Santa on the roof, I can pretend to be asleep when he comes down the chimney! It's a perfect plan, Dean, come on, stay with me!"

Sam reached out and tugged on his hand, coaxing Dean under the desk with him and Dean sighed, thinking longingly of his nice, comfortable cot upstairs before falling victim to his brother's ridiculous, doe eyed plea.

"Ugh! Fine! Scoot over!" Dean grumbled, getting on hands and knees and crawling under the desk, stealing some blanket for himself. It was a tight fit, but after some elbowing and shuffling, Dean finally arranged them with his back leaning against the side of the desk and Sam between his drawn-up legs, his little brother leaning back against Dean's chest contently with the blanket wrapped around them both.

"When do you think Santa will come?" Sam asked in a whisper, and Dean shook his head, making sure the blanket was tucked snuggly around them both.

"I don't know, Sammy," he answered, wrapping his arms tightly around Sam to still his excited twitching, "He does have to fly all over the world, remember."

There were a few moments of silence, in which Dean started drifting off, when Sam's hushed voice drew him out of sleep again.

"Why does he come down the chimney, anyway? The fireplace isn't very big, it seems like a lot of trouble. Why can't he use a lockpick like you do?" Sam asked, flashlight beam shining a critical light on the hearth, and Dean sighed.

"I don't know, Sammy," Dean sighed, "Maybe no one ever taught him how to use a lockpick."

"You should teach him!" Sam suggested, "When he comes tonight!"

Dean couldn't help but chortle, leaning his head back and letting his eyes close again.

"Sure, Sammy. But you have to be quiet, or Santa will know you're not sleeping and he won't come."

Sam nodded, flicking the flashlight off and leaning his head back against Dean with a whispered "Right!"

By the time first light was stretching through the windows, Bobby was dressed and leaving his room, dipping his head in to Dean and Sam's joint room to check on them. He was unsurprised to find it empty, remembering for himself the excitement of Christmas that drove him from his bed at the early hours of the morning.

He was expecting to find them tearing into the gift he had laid out for them last night, threatening all kinds of hell if they so much as _peeked_ at any of them before Christmas morning. Instead, he was surprised to find the two little boys, curled together and fast asleep, under his desk, clearly the victims of a late-night Santa watch.

He just shook his head, mumbling a fond, "Idjits," before stepping quietly into the kitchen to make coffee and start their breakfast.

They'd be up soon enough.


End file.
